


Hustle and Grind

by Basalit_an



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-07 13:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basalit_an/pseuds/Basalit_an
Summary: There are times when being the freest man in the galaxy has its perks. This is not one of those times.





	1. Chapter 1

Lyra smoothed out the bodice of her gold gown to work out the last but of nerves. She always felt a little nervous before a shift. One would think by this point in her life, any sort of apprehension would have disappeared. By now this sort of thing should be routine. But Lyra was always an anxious sort of person.

She walked out onto the casino floor, her award-winning smile in place. This was one of the busier nights, as several cargo ships had docked at Nar Shaddaa a few days ago to trade their goods. Traders, merchants, and ships crewmen all mingled in the casino, all flushed with new wealth. 

Lyra had started to make her way to the blackjack tables when Mr. Saracen intercepted her. “Someone has requested your services,” he said to her in his gravelly voice as he pushed a card into her hands. She gazed down at the eggshell card embossed with gold lettering which read “Djura, 4145”.

Her heart raced with both excitement and anxiety. It wasn’t every day that she got requested—mainly because her strengths lied with encouraging the guests to spend more in the casinos than one-on-one in private. Mr. Saracen had been known to block requests for her if he felt money would be made better with her on the floor.

It made her wonder what sort of person had requested her, considering how busy the casino was. 

Lyra turned and made her way to the elevator pads, but she paused by a mirrored wall to check her appearance. Her floor-length gold gown was pressed to perfection and the delicate fabric glittered under the casino lights. The gold contrasted her lavender skin perfectly, even with the blue-flushed look on her face. The headband she’d affixed to her head and the gold ribbon she’d wrapped around her lekku looked picture-perfect. 

With a deep breath, she approached the elevator pads. She went over all sorts of lines in her mind as she inputted the 41st floor and was teleported there in seconds. She wondered what sort of person this Mr. Djura was as she strode down the carpeted hallways. Was he someone she had entertained on the floor? Not every gentleman gave his real name, or any name for that matter, so it was possible she may not have caught it. 

Running her hands over the bodice of her gown again, Lyra spotted the door to the 45th room. As she approached, it opened automatically for her. She walked in, head held high and her brilliant smile on her face…and nearly tripped over a pair of dirty old boots left in the doorway.

Bracing herself against the threshold so she wouldn’t fall, she heard a muffled chuckle and looked up to see the man which had requested her. He sat at the fine dining table in the suite, his stocking feet resting on the delicate glass surface. He was reclined back on the hand-carved chair, drinking champaign directly out of the bottle. 

Lyra’s heart sank at the sight. “DJ,” she said dejectedly, and the man grinned. She looked down at the calling card in her hand. “Djura. I really should have seen that coming.” She let it fall to the floor.

“That’s a c-c-cold way to greet a friend,” he said teasingly. “What are you g-g-goin’ by now? Lyra?”

“What do you want?” she asked pointedly. 

He kicked out the chair next to him. “Want-t-t a drink?” he asked, holding out the champagne bottle. 

Lyra didn’t move from her spot, but folded her arms over her chest defensively. “I’m good,” she said. 

DJ just shrugged and took a swig. “I need’a t-t-talk to your b-b-boss,” he said as he slid his legs to the floor and sat forward. 

“You’ve already spoken to my boss,” she said. “You got me up here.” 

“You know I’m not-t-t-talking about that crabby floor manager,” he said. He got to his feet and approached her, moving very close to her. “I need your real b-b-boss.” 

Despite her disdain for DJ—borne mainly of their last encounter—Lyra’s heart raced as he moved so close to her. The smell of him, of alcohol and leather and his own natural musk, made her almost dizzy. Still, she kept her composure as she met his dark eyes. 

“And what exactly do you know about my ‘real boss’?” she asked, adding, “If one existed.” 

“You don’t gotta play that obscure g-g-game,” DJ said, putting his hands on her shoulders. Her cool skin prickled at the warmth of his palms. “I just got-t-ta have a little chat-t-t with Szilb.” 

Lyra pulled away from his grasp. “So then who are you working for?” she asked. DJ’s eyes went wide and his mouth formed an O—a mocking expression of surprise that made him look almost childlike. Lyra glared in response. “There’s no way you’d know about Szilb if you weren’t told about him,” she said. “Not to mention,” she nodded to the suite, at the fine décor and linens which decorated it, and then gestured to herself, “you don’t have the cash to pay for all this.”

DJ chuckled, a raspy, rattlebox sort of sound. “I may have a sp-p-ponsor,” he said. “He’s called Ungu.”

“Ungu,” Lyra repeated quietly. “I’ve never heard of him.”

DJ scoffed. “No one has,” he said rather quietly. Something in his tone caught her attention particularly.

Lyra looked at DJ closely. Overall he looked much the same he did the last time they met: shaggy, unkempt hair, salt and pepper scruff, clothes well-worn but in decent shape. He still swayed when he walked, twitched when he was still, stuttered and slurred his words. But when Lyra looked closer, she saw it—the deepened lines on his face, the gaunt look in his eyes. He was thinner than last she saw him. Not that DJ could ever be described as obese, but sometimes he looked a little more filled out when times were good for him. This was not one of those times. 

She felt it, too. Lyra couldn’t telepathically communicate with non-twi’leks, but she could tap into their mood on occasion, particularly Force-sensitives (DJ didn’t know she knew that particular secret of his, and Lyra kept that fact to herself), and she could sense his dampened spirits. 

As a former slave, Lyra was sometimes irritated with DJ’s talk of freedom. The way he’d pompously deride the First Order and the Resistance and anyone who picked a side irritated her, for she’d still very much be an owned person if it weren’t for the Resistance. Yet here he was, the freest man in the galaxy by his definition, and he certain did not have it easy. 

She felt pity for her old friend. 

“I can bring you to Szilb,” she said, and DJ raised an eyebrow. “On one condition, however.”

“Oh?” Now he grinned. “And what-t-t might that be?”

“Apologize.” 

His grin disappeared immediately. “L-l-look, that was—“

“I don’t care _what_ it was,” she spat. “You left me alone in a rancor pen with two newborns and a very angry mama rancor.” The memory of her very close escape made her chest tighten. 

“They were p-p-pretty cute, though, r-r-right?” Lyra gave him an icy stare, then turned to leave. “Fine!” he said, reaching out and grabbing her arm. “I’m s-s-s-sorry!”

She gazed up at him over her shoulder. “Okay. For what?” 

He sighed. “I’m sorry I t-t-took off without you,” he grumbled. He paused, and she glared at him again until he spat out the rest. “And for t-t-taking your half of the p-p-payout.” 

Lyra’s glare melted and she smiled, turning to face him. She reached up and felt his cheek, his stubble scratching her soft palm. “Szilb will be sure to collect that,” she said with a hint of a giggle in her voice. “Come on, then, I’ll take you to him.”


	2. Chapter 2

Szilb was preparing for a well-deserved recline in the sauna when he received the message that he was to receive visitors. Had it been anyone else, he'd have turned them away, but he could never deny the lovely Lyra.

She walked into his parlor, looking stunning in a gold gown. She must have just come from the casino. Szilb never found twi'lek as attractive as most other sentient species of the galaxy, but Lyra certainly appealed to his tastes. She had a human male with her, a twitchy little tramp by the look of him.

"My dear," Szilb said, holding his hand out to her. She approached him and took his hand, so dry and cool in his moist one, and he gave hers an affectionate squeeze. "You look as if you have come from your work."

"Yes, and so I cannot stay long," Lyra said. She released his hand, much so his chagrin, and turned to her companion. "This is DJ. He has requested an audience with you."

Szilb looked to the human again, recognizing the moniker. The man who was wanted on several planets for theft, property damage, illegal hacking, and possession of contraband. Just the sort of person Szilb enjoyed. DJ met his gaze and even tipped his hat to Szilb. Charming, too. Even still, Szilb recalled the sort of trouble he had brought to Lyra. It wasn't his grudge to hold, but he couldn't help be biased toward her.

"Don't Join," Szilb said, making DJ start for a moment then grin.

"So you've heard-d-d of me," he said.

"You've been spoken of in a not-so-fond way by members of the First Order," Szilb said.

"My b-b-biggest fan club," DJ said.

"And by my dear Lyra," Szilb mentioned coolly. He saw DJ glance to her. "What do you want of me?"

If DJ was made apprehensive, he didn't show it. "Ungu has sent me requesting munitions," DJ said. He pulled a data chip from one of his numerous coat pockets and approached Szilb to hand it to him. "That's a message he want-t-ted me to deliver."

"Ungu?" Szilb said as he gazed at the data chip in his hand, surprised at the name. "My nephew, requesting weapons?" DJ and Lyra both looked rather surprised at this revelation. He nodded to DJ. "Join me in the sauna in a few minutes after I've listened to this," he said.

"Th-th-the sauna?" DJ asked, certainly taken off-guard by Szilb's command.

"Help him prepare, Lyra, would you?" he asked her.

"No!" she blurted, but regained her composure quickly. "I must get back to work."

Szilb was already making his way out of the parlor. "I'll let Saracen know you won't be returning tonight," he said over his shoulder and slithered out of the room.

DJ met Lyra's bright blue eyes for only a moment before she sighed heavily and turned away from him. "Come on," she grumbled and led him out of the parlor and down a very wide hallway.

DJ had never been in a sauna with a hutt before. In fact, DJ had never been in a sauna. He wasn't sure if he should look forward to it or be horrified. This would certainly be one of the more memorable business meetings in his life.

Lyra led him to a very cozy bedroom sort of room. It was built for a hutt, of course, and it was furnished with the creature comforts befitting a giant slug: cool tiled floor, sloped stone furniture, moist, humid air. The room was lit dimly by glowing stones fixed in the walls, giving the room a rather romantic if sticky atmosphere.

"Strip," Lyra said, her back to DJ as she opened a cabinet installed on one wall.

"Not sure how c-c-comfortable it'll b-be in here," DJ responded playfully, taking his coat off and tossing it on the hutt bed.

Lyra sighed as she pulled a very large towel out of the cabinet. "Please don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be," she said.

She kept her gaze averted as DJ pulled his shirt off. He kicked off his boots, pulled off his very holey socks, then unbuckled his holster and belt. He caught her peeking then. Letting his trousers fall to the floor, he saw her look away quickly, her skin flushed blue all over. He didn't wear undergarments.

She pushed the towel into his hands while still looking away. "Wrap that around…you…and we'll get going," she said and rushed over to the door. DJ couldn't help but chuckle lightly as he figured out where the ends of the towel were.

The towel was meant for a hutt, and so it was about four times too big for DJ, but he wrapped it around his waist a few times and secured it with a loose knot. He joined Lyra by the door, getting close so that her bare shoulder met the skin of his chest, and she gasped and turned to him suddenly.

"Ready," he said with a grin. Lyra's blush was so deep she nearly looked indigo. "Let's g-g-get going, eh?" he said, which earned him a glare.

They left the bedroom, and Lyra led him down the wide hallway to the back of the house. He noticed the air got increasingly warmer and wetter as they approached the room at the end of the hallway. Steam rose out of the curtain which covered the wide doorway.

"Any et-t-t-tiquette I should know about?" he asked.

"Szilb isn't one to stand on ceremony," Lyra told him, "at least where non-hutts are concerned." She pulled the curtain back for him, and a plume of steam rose up. It smelled a little spicy. He smiled and briefly touched her shoulder before he walked into the steamy room.

It took DJ a moment to adjust to seeing in the steam and breathing in the hot air, but he saw Szilb reclining on a long stone slab. Szilb nodded to him and said, "Come in, relax. I've adjusted the temperature so you won't be harmed, if it is a bit chilly to me."

DJ was already sweating bullets, and he found a stone slab to sit down on. "Th-thanks," he said, sitting back a bit and swiping some sweat from his brow. "I hadn't realized-d-d Ungu was sending me t-t-to his uncle," he said. Truth be told, DJ would never have guessed it from appearance alone. Szilb was much smaller and leaner than Ungu, and where Ungu was pale with blue down his back, Szilb was bright red in color.

"Indeed," Szilb said, his speech a little slow. "I don't suppose you know why Ungu wants weaponry?"

"I ain't-t-t getting p-p-paid to ask questions," DJ said pointedly, and Szilb nodded slowly.

"He wants quite a lot of weapons," Szilb said, closing his eyes slowly. "Almost as if he wants to start a war or something."

"We all g-g-got our hobbies, eh?" DJ said, earning a light chuckle from the hutt.

"I have a man you can speak to," Szilb said. "You can work the finer details out with him. Just one thing, however…" Szilb opened his eyes and met DJ's gaze, those yellow eyes narrowed. "Once you've done all that Ungu has _paid_ you for," the word slid out of his mouth like venom, "I want you to come work for me."

DJ raised his eyebrows at the offer. "And what exactly d-d-do you need me t-t-to do?" he asked. "Steal the weapons b-b-back?"

Szilb laughed again. "I mean on a more permanent basis."

DJ chuckled. "I'm not-t-t for hire on a p-p-permanent basis."

Szilb sat up. "I wasn't asking."

"That ain't ch-changing what I said-d-d," DJ responded, not breaking his gaze.

A moment passed and Szilb laid back down. "You'd be a fool to pass up the salary I would offer you."

"That m-m-may be true," DJ said. "But I—"

Szilb cut him off. "I know, Don't Join."


	3. Chapter 3

Szilb gave DJ a rather curt send-off, but he still graciously provided the coordinates to his weapons dealer. DJ's ship may not have been space travel-ready, but it managed to get him to a surprisingly secluded piece of Nar Shaddaa a couple thousand kilometers from Szilb's home.

Touching his ship down at the edge of what looked like a very large junkyard, DJ prepared himself to meet with this dealer. He had a blaster but no ammo for it; nonetheless, he stuck it in its holster. When fortune favored him, DJ didn't need ammo.

As of lately, fortune had not looked on DJ kindly. Still, fortune's nature was change, and surely DJ was due for a change in fortune any time now.

Leaving his heavy coat in the ship, DJ stepped out of his ship and into the muggy air. He wasn't sure he had ever stopped sweating since his sauna session with Szilb, and he wasn't sure he'd ever stop sweating again. Perhaps he would gradually become a slimy slugman himself if he kept this up. The absurd thought made him smile as he walked into the junkyard.

There didn't seem to be anyone around. No one sentient at least. Very large, slimy, ugly rodents rummaged through the metal scrap piled to the sky around the huge lot. DJ eyed several scrapped parts sticking out of the piles, recognizing them as useful for his own ship, or as rare pieces he could no doubt either use or sell for a pretty penny. Certainly this lot had to have some sort of security, even if he hadn't encountered it yet. Nonetheless his fingers were feeling mighty sticky…

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and DJ spied a man rummaging through some scrap a few hundred yards away. He headed toward the man, but froze when he got closer and the man straightened up.

He was entirely naked. A human, his skin looked well-tanned from exposure. He was in exceptional shape, certainly not anyone DJ would want to tangle with hand-to-hand, clothed or not. The man was bald—in fact, his whole body looked pretty hairless, and he possessed a robotic right arm.

The man spotted DJ, and he approached. As he got closer, DJ saw he was young—probably half DJ's age or more, although his skin looked to be aging prematurely.

"Whach'a want, stranger?" the man asked, his voice thick with a drawl.

DJ just met the man's eyes and tried not to think about anything below his face. "Szilb sent-t-t me. About w-w-weapons."

"Szilb, huh?" the man said. He put his mechanical hand to his chin in a thoughtful way. "Right, Szilb did send a message. Well. What's yer name, stranger?"

"Call me DJ," DJ responded.

"Call ya, huh?" the man said, eyeing DJ closely. "So that ain't yer name?"

"It's the name I g-g-go by," DJ said, maintaining a light air despite all his mental alarms going off about this guy.

"Ah! I follow ya now," the man said, smiling. It was not a comforting smile. Every tooth in his maw was sharpened to a point. "Well, then ya can call me AJ."

"AJ. Quite a c-c-coincidence," DJ said.

"My man, there ain't no such thing," AJ said, moving beside DJ and putting his robotic arm around DJ's shoulders. "Come along now. We'll have some ice-cold tea and we can talk about all them weapons ya want."

They walked along the junkyard together. DJ wanted nothing more than to pull away from AJ, but AJ held him in a vice grip. Only when they had moved deeper within the junkyard to what looked like a makeshift hut built of metal sheeting did AJ release DJ.

"Don't-t-t get many visit-t-tors, huh?" DJ asked as the nude man strode into his hut.

"Not as many as I'd'a like," AJ called. "But the boss provides."

DJ didn't have time to wonder what that meant when AJ emerged from his hut holding an extremely large sledgehammer. At first DJ figured it was for busting apart scrap—until he realized AJ was swinging it at DJ's head.

DJ dropped down, barely missing getting his head caved in, and he scrambled away. AJ was on him in a flash, moving way too fast in the humidity. DJ grabbed the shaft of the sledgehammer, grappling with AJ over it for a moment before AJ pushed DJ up against a pile of shredded sheet metal. Sharp ends pressed into DJ's back, tearing the material of his shirt and into his skin.

AJ was bigger and heavier than DJ, and he pressed down on him more, positioning the shaft of the sledgehammer right over DJ's throat. DJ chanced to let go of the shaft and groped behind him for the first piece of junk he could grasp. He thrust whatever it was into AJ's shoulder, cutting his own hand in the process, but it worked—AJ howled in pain and DJ was able to push him away. DJ pulled away from the junk pile and put some distance between himself and AJ, although he didn't dare turn his back to the madman.

AJ was panting, bright red blood oozing out of his shoulder. There was a bloody handprint on his chest where DJ pushed him, and AJ touched the handprint, licking the blood off his finger. "You taste purty good, boy," AJ drawled. "I'll haveta send the boss a thank-you card for ya."

Drawing his blaster, DJ aimed it at AJ, whose eyes went to the blaster immediately. "I ain't on th-the menu," DJ growled. AJ dropped the sledgehammer and held his hands above his head—a rather empty gesture for someone nude, but appreciated nonetheless—but he smiled again.

"You got fight in ya," AJ said, delighted. "I like a good fight."

DJ knew exactly where his ship was. He saw the path they had taken clear in his mind. He just needed to get there. AJ's smile remained in place, a creepy grin plastered onto that tan, insane face. "You're g-g-gonna have to make new d-d-dinner plans," DJ said, then turned tail and ran.

AJ laughed, a screaming peel of a cackle. DJ didn't need to look behind him to know AJ was giving chase. Lungs burning, DJ ran as fast as his legs would take him, leaping over scrap metal on the ground and ducking under places where the scrap stuck out ready to behead or skewer him.

His ship came into sight, and DJ doubled down on his sprint. He heard AJ's heavy footfalls close behind him, but he made it home. DJ jumped into his ship, slammed the hatch closed and ensured it locked. He jumped into the pilot seat, panting, black dots in his vision. He was so dizzy from exhaustion he didn't immediately realize nothing happened when tried to power the ship on.

There was a grinding, crunching sound, and a particularly huge rodent crawled out of a vent, circuits in its drooling mouth. DJ stared at the creature for a moment, his exhausted brain catching up to the fact that his ship had been eaten from the inside.

A loud bang jolted DJ back. AJ was at the hatch, slamming that sledgehammer into it. DJ could see where the metal bent with every swing. He glanced around, his mind racing. Truth be told, DJ had "picked up" this ship from the selection of ships around the Nar Shaddaa casinos. Evidently he'd chosen a pacifist's ship, as there was nothing in that tiny thing to use as a weapon beyond a wrench. Hardly match for a nutcase brandishing a sledgehammer.

The hatch buckled, and DJ saw AJ reach in and began to pull the metal door away. DJ was cornered, but he was not defenseless. It was immensely difficult, in such as state he was in, for DJ to focus on the energy surrounding AJ, particularly at his throat.

Somewhere in his mind, there was a part of him that felt a wave of guilt. He heard the whispers of people from a lifetime ago warning him against what he was about to do. The old mechanisms created by years of training were still there, as strong as ever.

But those people no longer existed. The person DJ used to be no longer existed. Now it was either DJ or AJ, and DJ knew there could only be one outcome to this situation.

As soon as AJ pulled that hatch off its hinges and put his bald head through the opening, DJ reached out through the Force and _squeezed_.

Lyra pushed that little skip as fast as it could go, and maybe even faster. It had been hours since DJ left. In all likelihood, the Butcher had already had his way with him. Her stomach tightened at the thought. She had to hold onto the hope that DJ was as much of a survivor as he always boasted of being.

She had become suspicious when she had observed Szilb composing a message to his nephew Ungu. He had recorded it in Huttese, and Lyra had picked up enough of it to know he wasn't talking about securing the weapons Ungu had asked for.

After Szilb had retired for the night, Lyra wormed her way into his computer. Funnily enough, the techniques she had used to bypass the security protocols were things she had picked up from DJ over time. She had managed to find the coordinates Szilb had given to DJ.

Szilb had sent DJ right to the Butcher's doorstep.

The Butcher was Szilb's go-to man for anyone he wanted taken care of. Lyra had no idea where Szilb had met such an extremely insane and dangerous person, but anyone Szilb sent to the junkyard never came back.

The junkyard was in view, and Lyra only gunned the engines of the skip more. It shuddered a little but held steady as she scanned for lifeforms on the ground. She found one human one, unmoving, on the very edge of the junkyard.

Lyra had bounded out of the ship almost before it touched down. There was DJ's ship, she saw, and in the shade of it, DJ himself sitting with his back to her. She rushed to his side, and she discovered him chowing down on some extremely foul-smelling meat.

Backing away, she cried, "What the hell are you eating?!"

DJ shrugged. "Dunno what-t-t they're called," he said nonchalantly between bites. "But this one at-t-te my ship, so I'm just ret-t-turnin' the favor."

Glancing around, Lyra said, "We should get out of here."

"Worried?" DJ asked, looking up at her. Lyra shook her head, but DJ knew she was lying. "We don't-t-t gotta hurry," he said, then nodded to his ship. "See for yourself."

Lyra looked at the hatch, or what had been the hatch of the ship. It looked as if it had been peeled off with a giant can opener. Just inside she saw a pair of bare tan legs dangling out, motionless. She gasped. "Is he…?"

DJ only chuckled in response. "The b-b-back meat ain't too bad," DJ said, holding up some of that reeking meat to her.

Lyra felt faint. "I'll wait in the ship," she said, and she slowly retreated back to her skip. When she got to the hatch, DJ sat up on his knees to look at her.

"Hey, Lyra," he said, getting her attention. "We're square now, yeah?" For a moment, Lyra wasn't sure what he was talking about. But she quickly recalled when he said, "Cuz I sure as hell ain't-t-t getting' p-p-paid enough for this."


End file.
